La Musica delle Parole
by Linndechir
Summary: Hans Landa loves languages almost as much as messing with other people's minds. Hellstrom, a man of similar tastes, admires him too much for his own good. LANGUAGE KINK! and more kinks ...
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: It was about time for a language kink!fic in this fandom, and Landa and Hellstrom are just the perfect characters for this. The fic itself is in English, but parts of the dialogue are in French and German; the English translation can be found at the bottom of the page.

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**La Musica delle Parole**

Hellstrom was leaning back comfortably, one slender hand resting on his glass of champagne. He hardly seemed to be listening to the conversation going on at the table - Colonel Hans Landa interrogating one of their French informants. There were more than a few Parisians who were quite willing to collaborate with the Germans if it meant not being harassed by the occupying forces and often even payment, either in money or in goods.

The man had nothing interesting to tell this week, no revealing rumours about hiding Jews or members of the résistance. He was sweating, and stammering, and obviously uncomfortable sitting at a table with two of the most influential Nazis in the city. His French was chopped off, uncultured, tainted by some accent that Hellstrom suspected to be Norman, but his ear for French accents was by far less accurate than for German. But even a first-year French student would have realised that this man's French, though his native language, was but a meek shadow of the music that flowed from Landa's lips.

Hellstrom avoided speaking French as much as possible. His vocabulary and grammar were flawless, but his accent wasn't, and a man like Dieter Hellstrom went for nothing less than perfect. Also, he had soon realised that the rumour that he didn't speak French was quite advantageous for a Gestapo officer. It was amazing what people gave away when they believed you couldn't understand them.

Another advantage was that nobody expected him to participate in the conversation, and he happily turned all his attention to listening. He didn't think the French language had ever sounded as beautiful as when spoken by Hans Landa. It wasn't only his accent - so light it didn't give away his origins, and yet there, a softness that French usually lacked. It was his voice, always so cultured. His face, his perfect choice of words. For somebody who was as obsessed with languages as Hellstrom, listening to Hans Landa was better than going to the opera.

"Je vous remercie pour votre coopération, Monsieur Gévier, bien que j'espère que vous aurez un peu plus à me dire la semaine prochaine." He smiled that perfectly charming, polite smile. The one that should look nice, but that made most people shudder uncomfortably. "Je vous souhaite une bonne soirée. Au revoir." (1)

"Au revoir, Colonel," (2) the Frenchman stammered. He half stumbled over his chair when he got up, and almost ran out of the secluded booth the three had shared in the small café.

"Alors, que pensez-vous ?" (3) Landa turned to Hellstrom. He laughed when the Gestapo officer raised an eyebrow as if he didn't understand.

"Ach, kommen Sie schon, Dieter. Sie erwarten doch nicht ernsthaft, dass ich nach Wochen der Zusammenarbeit immer noch glaube, Sie könnten kein Französisch. Ganz so unfähig ist die Leitung der Gestapo dann doch nicht. Donc, que pensez-vous ?" (4)

Hellstrom shouldn't be surprised. He really shouldn't. There was a reason he admired Landa so much - not many people could meet someone of Hellstrom's intellectual abilities eye to eye, and even fewer could actually outthink him. It was a nice change for once. And, right now, he was almost grateful that Landa had switched back to French … because the only thing more beguiling than Landa's flawless French was his German.

"Je pense que cet homme est aussi honnête que stupide," Hellstrom said, and he managed to hide his own dissatisfaction with his accent. If Landa's smile was any indication, he seemed to like it. "C'est une combinaison très utile pour nous, je dirais." (5)

"Sie nehmen mir die Worte aus dem Mund, Dieter. Und ich wusste doch, dass Sie es können." (6)

Hellstrom was by now feeling a lot less comfortable than minutes ago. He had had years to perfect his self-control, to hide his thoughts in every situation, and especially when he was feeling this intolerable, sick kind of attraction to anyone. He had joined both the SS and the Gestapo in 1934, right after completing law school. And even among his Gestapo colleagues, some of whom were trained to recognise and arrest homosexuals, no one had ever so much as suspected him.

But then again, Hellstrom had never been as attracted to anyone as to Hans Landa. And Landa also happened to be the most observant, perspicacious person he had ever met. Why on Earth did that man appeal to every soft spot in Hellstrom? His accent, this musical Vienna German, was one of the most beautiful accents Hellstrom had ever heard in his life. Whoever thought German was a rough, brutish language had apparently never heard Hans Landa. Dieter Hellstrom would give much to hear this man read Goethe. Although, he'd better not, he would probably end up on his knees.

"Dieter? Bekommt Ihnen der Champagner nicht? Sie sehen ja ganz blass aus." (7) It was one of Landa's many talents to sound genuinely concerned and worried whenever he wanted to. But Hellstrom was quite an observant man himself, and he didn't miss the tiny twinkle in Landa's eyes that gave him away, that showed that he knew, as always, more than he was admitting. He had this certain look on his face that said, and the English expression was really the only fitting one, "Gotcha!"

"Entschuldigen Sie, Herr Standartenführer, ich bin wohl ein wenig müde. Es ist schon spät; sofern Sie meine Hilfe nicht weiter benötigen, würde ich gerne gehen." (8)

It was a perfectly reasonable excuse. It was indeed getting late, and they had stayed up late last night, finishing reports together. Landa's task required close cooperation with the Gestapo, and the commandant of the Gestapo in Paris had thought that Landa and Hellstrom would get along well. If Hellstrom wasn't so sure that his … deviation was a well-kept secret, he would have thought that his superior had played a cruel joke on him by assigning him to probably the most charming member of the SS.

Hans Landa hadn't become such a good detective by accepting perfectly reasonable, but nonetheless false excuses. When Hellstrom started to get up, Landa grabbed his wrist, quick as a snake. But although the touch made Hellstrom shudder involuntarily, it was Landa's eyes and his voice that made him sit back down.

"Ich glaube nicht, dass Sie wirklich gehen wollen, mein Lieber." (9)

Before Hellstrom could gather his wits enough to reply Landa leant over to him, grabbing his chin with his free hand. The privacy of the booth, pleasant until now, was suddenly almost frightening. They had chosen this place for the meeting with their informant precisely because nobody else in the café could see or hear what was going on. Hellstrom got over his shock in a matter of seconds. Years of obedience kept him from pushing a superior officer away, but the anger was all too visible in his eyes.

"Ich habe nicht die geringste Ahnung, wovon Sie sprechen, Standartenführer," (10) he hissed, and he could only pray that neither his voice nor his eyes betrayed what Landa's closeness was doing to him. Landa only smiled, and his gaze strayed for a split second downwards, in the general direction of one part even Dieter Hellstrom's iron self-control couldn't keep in check.

"Vous savez très bien de quoi je parle." (11) The hard grasp on Hellstrom's chin turned into a gentle caress, strong fingers stroking over a clean-shaved cheek.

"Ich finde diese Unterstellung ungeheuerlich," (12) Hellstrom snapped and tried once again to get up, but this time Landa pushed him down roughly, with more strength than one might have expected from a man his age.

"Das ist wirklich ein interessanter kleiner Fetisch, den Sie da haben, Herr Sturmbannführer," Landa said in this nonchalant, friendly voice, the one he used in interrogations, the one that sounded like he was really just prattling about the weather. The contrast to Hellstrom's own, clipped pronunciation, as cold and efficient as his thoughts, only made Landa's accent seem more unbearably beautiful. "Wie lange dachten Sie denn, dass Sie das vor mir verstecken können?" (13)

Hellstrom remained silent. He was caught like a mouse in a trap, and he knew there was no way out. He had waited for something like this to happen all his life, ever since he had realised what was wrong with him. There was no way to get rid of Landa, and since Landa was the higher-ranking officer, nobody would believe Hellstrom's word over his.

"Sie zittern ja fast," (14) Landa continued after a few moments, still smiling. "Well, what's that nice English expression? Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill?"

And Hellstrom moaned. He simply couldn't help himself. It was more a gasp than a moan, actually, but it was audible enough. And there he had thought things couldn't possibly get worse. He had had no idea that Landa spoke English on top of everything.

He closed his eyes when Landa's hand kept caressing his cheek, cool fingers brushing heated skin. Hellstrom's bottom lip trembled, and he was closer to panic than he had ever been in his whole life. He realised for the first time how he himself made people feel most of the time, and only now he fully understood the break-downs, the crying and begging he had seen - and caused - in interrogations. But even in his fear he clung to his pride and stubbornness, or else he would probably have started sobbing himself.

Landa's thumb brushed Hellstrom's bottom lip, and another helpless gasp escaped his lips. Even in his panic the touch was electrifying and almost too much to bear. His body soaked up the caresses it had always been denied, desperate to be finally touched after a life of abstinence. And Landa's hand never wavered, it kept touching him while the other one was still holding Hellstrom's unresisting wrist.

He seemed to be enjoying himself, for when Hellstrom opened his eyes after what seemed an eternity to him, there was still the same amused smile on Landa's face. It was the most terrifying thing Hellstrom had ever seen.

"Bitte, Herr Standartenführer," (14) he started to plead, and fear forced the words out of his mouth even though he knew it was hopeless. Landa's index finger moved quickly to Dieter's lips and hushed him.

Something was wrong, Hellstrom realised. This wasn't the look Landa usually had on his face when he had caught someone, when he was about to call in his men to take over and kill or arrest his target. It was still the look of a predator who was toying with his prey, not of one who was about to finish it.

Yet Hellstrom couldn't figure what Landa was planning. The usual procedure would be to have him arrested by the Gestapo, who would interrogate and probably torture him - even more so in the case of a former colleague who had betrayed them - and then send him to a concentration camp. Hellstrom was feeling sick when he tried to imagine what both the other inmates and the supervisors of a camp would do to a homosexual ex-Gestapo. His only hope was that Landa could find some shred of mercy in his heart and simply shoot him, but he knew better than anybody that the 'Jew Hunter' was many things, but not merciful.

"Worauf warten Sie denn noch?" (16) Hellstrom snapped after another endless minute had passed in silence. His usually so controlled voice cracked. The tension was almost tearing him apart, and he was close to grabbing his own gun and shooting himself. Maybe that was what Landa wanted.

Mock surprise appeared on Landa's face, and he suddenly retreated. He sat back in his chair, straightening his uniform with infuriating calm, and smiled.

"Was sollte ich denn Ihrer Meinung nach tun? Das ist doch außerhalb meiner Zuständigkeit, und ich werde bestimmt nicht Ihren Kollegen die Arbeit wegnehmen." (17)

Hellstrom's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. He reminded himself that Landa was only toying with him, waiting to set him up. Landa's eyes gleamed knowingly when he continued in English, crushing the last bits of control Hellstrom had left.

"I believe you were tired, Dieter? I really do not want to deprive you of your well-deserved rest any longer. Get a good night's sleep, you look like you need it."

Hellstrom just kept staring at him. It took him a few moments to understand what Landa had said, as if his mind was too numb to process a foreign language. But as often as he turned the words in his head, he always came to the same result - Landa was letting him go.

Both men were looking each other in the eyes, smug self-confidence meeting paralysing fear, and as so often in the past few weeks, this one look was enough to understand each other. To understand that Hellstrom's fate was in Landa's hands, that one word would be enough to end not only his career, but also his life, that only Landa's good will stood between Hellstrom and a handful of Gestapo men on his doorstep. That he could destroy Hellstrom, but decided not to because he was much more useful alive and at his mercy than dead or imprisoned. For the moment.

Hellstrom took a deep breath and slowly stood up. His fingers were cramped when he took his cap, and he hardly managed to keep them from trembling. He clacked his heels, but the movement lacked its usual vim. His face had turned back into a mask of calm control, even though he knew too well that he couldn't fool Landa.

"Herr Standartenführer." His voice was flat and strained, but his eyes widened when Landa got up as well and closed the distance between them. Hellstrom felt a strong hand on his upper arm, and Landa's smile was suddenly uncomfortably close to his face.

"Bonne nuit, Dieter. Reposez-vous bien." (18) With these words Landa leant forward and breathed a soft kiss on Hellstrom's right cheek, then on the other. The French goodbye. It would have been an innocent gesture, if Hellstrom had been capable of innocent thoughts with Landa's breath brushing his skin.

He stumbled backwards when his arm was released. His steps were shaky and weak, like those of a mouse after the cat had delivered the first playful blow. Even as he left the booth he couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off that smiling face, and he knew that this cat wasn't done toying with its prey.

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_1 Thank you for your cooperation, Mister Gévier, although I hope that you will have more to tell me next week. I wish you a nice evening. Goodbye._

_2 Goodbye, Colonel._

_3 So, what do you think?_

_4 Come on, Dieter. You don't really expect me to believe, after weeks of team work, that you don't speak French. Even the administration of the Gestapo isn't that incompetent. So, what do you think?_

_5 I think this man is as honest as he is stupid. I'd say that's a very useful combination for us._

_6 You're taking the words out of my mouth, Dieter. And I knew you could speak French._

_7 Dieter? Does the champagne make you sick? You are very pale._

_8 I am sorry, Colonel, I suppose I'm a bit tired. It's late; if you don't need my assistance anymore, I'd like to leave._

_9 I don't think you really want to leave._

_10 I have no idea what you are talking about, Colonel._

_11 You know very well what I'm talking about._

_12 That's an outrageous accusation._

_13 That's an interesting little fetish you've got there, Major. How long did you think you could hide that from me?_

_14 You're almost trembling._

_15 Please, Colonel._

_16 What are you still waiting for?_

_17 What do you think I should do? This is clearly out of my reference, and I'm certainly not going to do your colleagues' work._

_18 Good night, Dieter. Rest well._


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Like in part one, the fic itself is in English, and English translations of the German and French dialogue can be found at the bottom of the page. I had planned to put some Italian in this scene, but somehow it didn't fit. Maybe next time. I will definitely write a third chapter … because this needs a sequel.

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Relaxed laughter filled the room, accompanied by a much softer chuckle. Two glasses of Scotch and Landa's charm had managed to put even the ever tense Major Hellstrom at ease. They were sitting in the living room of Landa's flat in Paris, the Colonel having invited his colleague for a drink after their shared dinner in an expensive restaurant not far away. There was nothing too unusual about that - they worked together most of the time, and as they both had no life to speak of outside their jobs, work often went until the early morning hours. It had become an unspoken tradition that they would have dinner together, and more often than not Landa invited Hellstrom home for another drink.

Most of the time these evenings were quite pleasant - they got along remarkably well, both of them happy to have found somebody who could meet them on their own intellectual level. Even when they weren't talking about their work, they could spend hours discussing music and literature, especially since their tastes were rather similar - although Hellstrom would never forgive Landa for preferring Mozart to Beethoven.

Hellstrom would have been quite content, had it not been for the occasional innuendos Landa made, subtle reminders of what he had found out about a month ago. He would randomly switch to another language and smirk about the slight twitch of Dieter's mouth, he would brush his hand and enjoy the following shiver, he would comment on Hellstrom's complete lack of private life and interest in women. Once he had even said, laughing, that Hellstrom's continued celibacy might _almost _raise questions about his preferences, before adding that he was just joking, of course.

Hellstrom was a master of self-control, though, but as he got halfway used to Landa's charm and once again hid perfectly how Landa's voice and accent affected him, Landa increased his efforts. The innuendos and the accidental touches became more frequent, hard green eyes reminded him regularly that his life rested in Landa's hands, and Hellstrom outdid himself to match Landa's wit - driven by the constant fear that Landa would get rid of him the moment this game started to get boring.

But tonight had been rather uneventful, and as it grew late Hellstrom was starting to hope that he could get home without having to suffer through another one of Landa's games. Maybe he would have to endure nothing more but the obligatory French goodbye kiss - ever since their conversation a month ago Landa insisted on the local ritual whenever they met or parted ways. _When in Rome, do as the Romans do_, he had said in flawless English when Hellstrom had frowned about it.

"Kann ich Ihnen noch ein Glas anbieten?" (1) Landa lifted the bottle of Scotch and leant forward in his chair, smiling at Hellstrom, who was resting - one might almost say sprawling - rather comfortably on the couch. He was quite confident tonight - he hardly shivered anymore when Landa's lips brushed his cheek.

"Danke, aber ich will mein Glück nicht herausfordern. Ich vertrage Scotch doch so schlecht." (2) His smile was every bit as charming as Landa's, his voice just as smooth and pleasant. He lit another cigarette - he was probably smoking too much again, he always was, and even more so when Landa was around. Fortunately the Colonel didn't mind, or else their cooperation would have been a lot less harmonious. Instead Landa just smiled a little and gave Hellstrom that weird, slightly far-away look he always had on his face when the Major was smoking. Hellstrom didn't know what to make of it, so he tried to ignore it, knowing that wondering about it would drive him mad.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Landa drinking his Scotch, Hellstrom enjoying his cigarette, occasionally exchanging a few glances. Hellstrom couldn't help but notice, as he did every night, how striking Landa's green eyes were when he was relaxed like this. Physical features usually didn't attract him much - he had learnt to ignore all the attractive young officers around him and had made himself immune to their good looks. But every single detail about Landa just worsened Hellstrom's attraction to him, and the eyes he would have easily ignored on anyone else made his stomach clench now.

Hellstrom was just stubbing out his cigarette when Landa already anticipated that he was about to get up.

"Bleiben Sie noch ein wenig, Dieter," (3) he said simply, but the smile on his face changed. It grew predatory again, his eyes were suddenly hard and at the same time playfully amused. Instant panic rose up in Hellstrom - the threat was obvious in Landa's eyes, and Hellstrom knew him well enough to be sure that the Colonel wasn't just toying with him tonight. He was in for more than just a little innuendo and a kiss on the cheek - he just wasn't sure if he should be excited or worried about that.

Hellstrom had enough pride to remain silent instead of begging for permission to leave. His whole body tensed up, fingers clenched into fists, lips pressed together. Landa's smile grew wider, obviously amused by his subordinate's fear.

"Ca serait dommage que vous partiez déjà, on a encore tellement de choses à se dire," (4) Landa added, smiling almost gleefully when Hellstrom bit his bottom lip.

"Vraiment ? Je croyais que nous en avions terminé pour aujourd'hui," (5) Dieter replied. He had noticed by now that Landa hated it when he refused to speak French, and right now he had much bigger worries than his accent, which got worse when he was nervous.

"Vous savez très bien que je ne parlais pas de notre travail." (6) Landa sounded slightly annoyed now, but still in a rather good mood. Even one month of teasing and subtle threats hadn't prepared Dieter for Landa's next words, a matter-of-fact order, but in a voice so smooth and low that Dieter wondered if this was the voice Landa used in bed.

"Déshabillez-vous." (7)

If he didn't know better Dieter would have thought that his French failed him, that the meaning of the sentence escaped him, buried by its musical beauty. He opened his mouth, but shut it in time before he could protest, knowing that it would only infuriate Landa. It shouldn't be surprising that Landa wanted to humiliate him somehow before he would certainly have him arrested, but Dieter hadn't expected this kind of humiliation. Nor, to be honest, had he expected Landa to grow tired of him already, when they seemed to be working together so well.

"Sie haben mich schon richtig verstanden, Dieter. Oder tun Sie wieder so, als könnten Sie kein Französisch?" (8)

The amused smile was back on Landa's face, and it only unsettled Dieter more. He had no idea what Landa was planning to do - he couldn't believe that he might just get what he had been fantasising about for weeks, and he half expected Landa to start laughing and tell him it was just a little test to see how Dieter would react. Dieter took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Bei allem Respekt, Herr Standartenführer, und bei allem Verständnis für Ihre Spielereien - das geht eindeutig zu weit," (9) he snapped, his outrage fuelled by his fear. He got up, ready to leave, anxious to get away, although he knew deep down that he couldn't run from Landa.

"Hören Sie auf sich zu zieren wie eine Jungfer," Landa replied dismissively. "Sie wissen so gut wie ich, worauf das hier schon seit Wochen hinläuft. Sie haben doch darauf gehofft die ganze Zeit." (10)

Every shred of amusement was gone from his face now. Landa's eyes seemed to be looking right through Dieter, the hard look that could make grown men cry uncontrollably. Dieter forced himself to meet that gaze, frightened by the determination he saw there. Landa was definitely not in the mood for Dieter's feigned lack of understanding. Dieter always felt strangely aroused when he saw Landa give that look to someone else … he never would have thought that he would find it arousing to feel it directed at himself.

Like a puppet on a string, too terrified to struggle against its master's will, he slowly raised his shaking hands and started to unbutton his uniform jacket. His slender fingers were trembling, hesitating, as if he still hoped that Landa would break out in a smile, make fun of him, and let him go. But the Colonel just held his gaze, his eyes never leaving Dieter's as the younger man undressed.

There was nothing enticing about his movements - he was too frightened to wonder how this might affect Landa, and in his current state he needed all his concentration to deal with the countless buttons on his jacket and shirt. Minutes passed as one garment after the other was taken off and neatly folded or hung over a nearby chair. First his jacket, tie, and shirt, then, a bit awkwardly, the leather boots. He hesitated, hands resting on his waistband, but Landa gave an impatient wave with his right hand, a silent warning that he would not repeat his order again. The black uniform trousers came off slowly, followed by Dieter's underwear, his fingers trembling by now so badly that he almost dropped them.

Dieter straightened up quickly when he was naked, trying to cover his most private parts with his hands. He felt goose bumps on his arms, but the cool air on his bare, oversensitive skin did nothing to lessen the heat in his head and groin. Dieter didn't blush easily, but he was aware that his cheeks had to be flushed.

He couldn't even feel relief when Landa's eyes softened a bit. His gaze was roaming over Hellstrom's body, as if he wanted to take in every detail, every inch of pale skin, every one of the moles that graced Dieter's body. Only now did Dieter notice the tenseness in Landa's posture, the slightly accelerated breathing, the poorly concealed arousal in his eyes. Not even fear and humiliation could quench the excitement and the faint sense of pride that rose in Hellstrom when the realisation finally hit him that he was not the only one who _wanted _this. And this new, almost greedy look Landa was giving him was definitely less disturbing than his cold, dispassionate stare.

Dieter tensed up nonetheless when Landa finally rose from his chair and stepped closer. He was still in full uniform, including boots and jacket, and although Dieter was a good two inches taller than him he felt very small and frail. Vulnerable.

Once again Landa looked him over from head to toe, then suddenly, moving with this surprising, snake-like strength, batted Dieter's hands aside. Dieter blushed even more when he felt Landa's eyes on his already hard cock, his shame being almost too much to bear.

Finally a smile flitted over Landa's face, all seriousness replaced by his usual charming, terrifying self. His hands, strong and determined, but soft-skinned and gentle, found their way to Dieter's hips, then slowly slid up his sides. Dieter's breath caught in his throat when Landa stepped even closer, his clothed chest brushing Dieter's, the cold metal of his party insignia scraping against the pale skin for no more than a second.

Landa lifted one hand and ran his fingers through Dieter's hair, untidying the carefully slicked back strands. He smiled when the blond hair fell freely over Dieter's forehead, tickling him.

"So schauen Sie doch viel besser aus," (11) he commented, his Vienna accent now particularly thick. Dieter knew him too well to believe in a coincidence, not when Landa was quite aware of what his accent did to Dieter. He felt even weaker, his nose filled with the scent of Landa's expensive aftershave, one of Landa's hands still resting on his hip, the other one slowly trailing down to his neck, his thumb caressing the thin, sensitive skin behind Dieter's ear.

"Ich wollte Sie ja eigentlich noch ein wenig länger zappeln lassen, Dieter, aber Sie sind einfach zu … betörend." (12)

Dieter moaned softly when he felt strong fingers digging into his side, almost bruising, holding him in place while the other hand caressed his throat, his neck, then slid down to his smooth chest. Landa's eyes were half-closed, and they were standing close enough for Dieter to notice that Landa was no less aroused than him.

His knees almost gave in when Landa leant forward and kissed his neck, just beneath his ear, his lips as soft as a girl's, but his cheeks slightly stubbly this late in the evening. Landa's arms caught him, both suddenly wrapped around Dieter's slender, almost thin body.

"Man könnte gerade meinen, dass noch niemand Sie je so berührt hätte," (13) Landa said jokingly, making a step backwards when Dieter found his balance again. Dieter felt himself blush even more, but to his relief Landa didn't seem to notice. He was just turning around, one arm slung around Dieter's waist to pull him along. Dieter followed him insecurely, stumbling rather than walking, with every step shamefully aware of his lack of clothing, Landa's eyes burning on his naked skin.

Dieter's fear- and lust-clouded brain only realised what was happening when Landa closed the door of the bedroom behind them. A small part of Dieter was grateful that Landa hadn't just taken him on the couch in the living room, but only until the disturbing and yet arousing thought settled in that he was in Landa's bedroom.

"Lie down," Landa said pleasantly, as if he were only offering Dieter a seat. Dieter gulped, but he obeyed. It was too late now to protest anyway, and if this was to be his last night before Landa would hand him over to his colleagues, he might as well try to enjoy what he was given. He had never dared to hope that he might get one day what he had desired since his early teenage years, even less from the man he wanted most. Only a fool would refuse to savour his last meal.

Dieter took a deep breath and lay down on the broad bed, soft silk sheets caressing his back. He wasn't surprised that Landa had good taste in absolutely everything (with the exception of cigarettes, his brain added almost automatically). He moved his hands to cover himself again, but Landa's eyes shot him a quick warning.

Dieter felt himself shiver again when Landa slowly walked through the room, boot heels silent on the carpet, green eyes devouring him like a hungry tiger who had been starved for too long and who couldn't wait to get to his prey. There was an animalistic glimmer in Landa's eyes that Dieter had never seen before, a violent intensity that didn't fit with the perfect control he was used to seeing there.

"I have always found English to be the most appropriate language in bed," Landa continued, sounding like a British gentleman who was discussing the weather with his peers. Dieter closed his eyes, Landa's voice having the same effect on him as his hands had before. "French is too soft, German is either too romantic or too vulgar. But English … English can be so wonderfully vulgar without being crude. Don't you agree?"

Dieter's only response with a rather undignified whimper, but he had almost stopped caring about that by now. He looked up at Landa with wide eyes, and to his relief the Colonel finally took pity on him and touched him. His fingers slid over Dieter's abdomen, caressing him gently, discovering sensitive spots Dieter had never known about. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, giving in to the feeling of hands all over his body, soon joined by warm lips that brushed his naked chest.

"You smell remarkably good for a chain-smoker," Landa observed, his lips moving against heated skin. "I've always liked the smell of your cigarettes, but I had no idea that you smell even better yourself."

He kissed his way downwards, licking over his stomach until his chin grazed the coarse hair between Dieter's legs, where he, predictably, stopped. Dieter was writhing by now, his brain numbed by too many sensations, even his fear almost buried under desire. His eyes fluttered open again when Landa straddled him, the rough fabric of his uniform trousers scraping against Dieter's groin, his boots brushing against Dieter's legs. Dieter bucked up to increase the friction, and as if to oblige him Landa leant forward until their chests touched, the iron cross on his jacket scraping against one nipple, longer than before, causing another helpless moan.

"My, Dieter, I thought it has been a long time for _me_, but you seem to be even more desperate." Landa's chuckle vibrated in his chest, and their eyes met once again. Understanding finally lit up Landa's face when Dieter suddenly tried to look away.

"Sie sind doch nicht wirklich noch eine Jungfrau, Dieter," (14) he said, so full of disbelief that he inadvertently switched back to his native language. He shook his head and chuckled when Dieter's intense blushing answered his question. Leaning forward until his lips touched Dieter's ear Landa whispered mockingly, "I promise I will be gentle."

Despite his situation Dieter managed an annoyed little growl, but it was quickly turned into a whimper when Landa bit into his earlobe. Dieter felt more aroused and frustrated than he had in his whole life, and he was by now far beyond thinking about the consequences of this night. He wrapped his arms around Landa, fingers grabbing the uniform jacket, and kissed him - hard, almost rough, quite aware that he was being rather clumsy and not caring one bit about it, especially since Landa didn't seem to mind. Landa tasted of Scotch and these awful cigarettes Dieter abhorred but the taste of which didn't bother him all that much now.

But his initiative was interrupted immediately when his hands found their way to the buttons of Landa's jacket to undress him. The Colonel gently pried his hands away, gave him a superior smirk, and started kissing his way down once again.

Dieter's hands grabbed Landa's shoulders, and to his great relief he wasn't pushed away this time. It amazed him how much time Landa took to explore his body with his fingers and lips, seeming to enjoy himself thoroughly, smiling about every moan he elicited, so patiently that Dieter was sure that Landa would end up knowing his body better than he did himself.

He had no sense of time left, but it definitely felt like an eternity before Landa first touched his cock, his cheek brushing it when he kissed Dieter's thighs. Dieter could feel him hesitate when the caresses stopped for a moment, and although he had no idea what was going on in Landa's head he almost wept with joy when Landa's lips finally found their way to his cock, fleeting kisses and licks at first before he took him all in.

It was more than his shivering, tense body could take. He thrust helplessly into Landa's mouth, his hands grabbing the brown hair and holding his head in place, and these few moments alone before Landa could regain control over the situation were enough to send Dieter over the edge. The world went black for a second, and he thought he heard himself make a sound that sounded suspiciously like a yelp, but what did it matter in this nameless bliss that washed over him, the overwhelming joy of finding this pleasure for the first time not through his own hand?

Dieter sank back onto the sheets, shivering, absent-mindedly noticing how Landa coughed a little before he pulled himself together again. He lazily opened his eyes again to find himself facing a rather surprised looking Landa - apparently he had really come much sooner than Landa had anticipated. Landa licked his lips and ran a hand through his now messy hair, blinking as if he couldn't quite believe that he had really just lost control over the situation, if only for a few seconds. Dieter tensed up a little, his afterglow broken by the return of fear, even though Landa didn't look angry.

Dieter watched as Landa sat up and made himself comfortable on the bed, leaning against the headboard and stretching out his legs, his black boots and uniform a sharp contrast against the light sheets.

The smirk on his face was soon followed by a light pat on his own thigh. Dieter straightened up, frowning in confusion and unconsciously backing away a little.

"Nun kommen Sie schon her, Dieter," (15) Landa said rather pleasantly, but there was a steely, impatient edge to his friendly tone.

Dieter still had no idea where this was going, and not knowing only made it worse. He started to say something, to protest, to ask for an explanation, but Landa didn't seem to be in the mood for arguments. He grabbed Dieter's shoulder and yanked him over his lap, pressing the struggling body down, and Dieter was once again shocked how much stronger Landa was. Dieter knew he was rather thin and not exactly muscular, but he was still twenty years younger than Landa - and yet the Colonel overpowered him physically just as easily as intellectually.

"Halten Sie still, oder ich benutze Ihren Gürtel statt meiner Hand," (16) Landa hissed. His voice was a low snarl, his pronunciation unusually hard and clipped, and the contrast to the soft Vienna accent Dieter had got used to emphasised the threat. Dieter finally stopped struggling, insecurity turning into paralysing fear, and he settled against the still clothed thighs, noticing only now the prominent bulge in Landa's trousers.

Dieter could hardly believe that this was happening to him. And while he had certainly expected worse, his pride was acting up at the very idea of being bent over Landa's knee like a schoolboy. He wiggled a little bit, a last half-hearted attempt to get away, but all his pride and outrage didn't stand a chance against his renewed lust when Landa's hand started to draw small circles on his neck, followed by fleeting caresses along his spine, fingertips dancing over sweaty skin.

Dieter dug his fingers into the sheets, tensing up and trying to anticipate the first blow, but for long minutes nothing came. Landa took just as much time mapping Dieter's back as he had done with his chest. There was something soothing about his movements, and Dieter was soon rubbing against Landa's thighs, impatient for more contact. It didn't take long until the friction coaxed the first moan out of Landa - a warm, soft sound every bit as beautiful as his voice. Dieter smiled almost triumphantly and wiggled a bit more, hoping to obtain another sign of impatience from his infuriatingly composed superior.

Yet Landa didn't appreciate Dieter's rather unsubtle attempts to urge him on, and they were soon met with a sharp slap on Dieter's pale skin. Instead of teasing him further Landa didn't hold back now, one violent blow following the other, hardly giving Dieter time to breathe in between. The initial discomfort of the first slaps soon turned into intense pain, but to his surprise it didn't lessen his arousal one bit. He found himself arching against Landa's hand although his skin was burning, rocking against his thighs instead of trying to get away. He was too out of breath to scream or beg, and he wouldn't even have known what he wanted to beg for.

Landa's left hand had grabbed his neck and held him down, so hard that the manicured fingernails left deep marks in Dieter's skin. Dieter was sobbing by the time Landa's right hand finally stayed down on his abused skin instead of rising for another slap. The suddenly gentle caresses made Dieter whimper - he would never have expected that pain could make him so oversensitive, so desperate for more that the softest touch went right to his groin.

When Landa remained silent - and Dieter wasn't used to Landa not talking - Dieter looked up, and he realised only now that he must have been crying, since his vision was blurred. Yet he could still see the intense, almost wild look on Landa's face, the quivering of his parted lips. At some point he must have loosened his tie and opened the upper button of his shirt. Dieter felt a strange shiver of excitement just at catching a glimpse at Landa's collarbone, at his flushed face and the slightly sweaty hair. All of Landa's eloquence seemed gone, and as much as Dieter loved to hear him talk, he felt almost proud that he had made the ever loquacious Hans Landa speechless.

He watched from the corner of his eyes as Landa - finally - shrugged off his uniform jacket; he was sweating quite a bit by now, and his shirt was clinging to his chest, revealing the outline of a nipple. Dieter turned a little bit on his lap to get a better view, which earned him an almost gentle slap that still burnt like a whiplash.

Landa leant over to the nightstand and took something out of the top drawer. Dieter frowned when he saw the small bottle, but only until Landa unscrewed it and coated his fingers with something that looked and smelt like some kind of massage oil. The rational part of Dieter's brain made a note that either Landa entertained guests more often than he had admitted, or that he had been planning to do this.

Not that it mattered when Landa's left hand found its way to his neck again while his oiled fingers set to work elsewhere. For the first time in the evening Dieter was grateful that Landa enjoyed teasing him so much - he had tried to touch himself there a few times, but his own fingers were a lot more slender than Landa's, and a lot less determined. Dieter buried his face in the sheets, focusing on nothing but Landa's surprisingly gentle hands, moving with exquisite consideration, careful not to hurt him or even to cause him discomfort. How Landa, in his current, obviously very aroused state, was still able to take it so slowly was incomprehensible for Dieter, who was once again writhing under Landa's precise hands.

Landa kept caressing the downy hair on the back of Dieter's neck even as his other hand grew bolder, the first two fingers now joined by a third one. Dieter could hear Landa's almost ragged breathing, interrupted by a sharp groan when Dieter bucked up against his hands. It was apparently the signal Landa had been waiting for and he withdrew his fingers, then gently pulled Dieter up in a sitting position.

Their eyes met and Dieter was once again stunned by the intensity he saw in Landa's gaze. Landa's fingers closed around Dieter's throat, a bit too tight for comfort, choking him just the tiniest bit while he pulled him closer and kissed him, biting his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

Dieter sank weakly into Landa's embrace, leaning against him while Landa gently wiped the tears off Dieter's cheeks. Landa kept looking into his eyes while he licked the tears off his fingers. He cocked his head a little, as if he had just noticed something. His voice was a low rumble, conveying the same passion as his eyes.

"Sie sind wunderschön, wenn Sie weinen, Dieter." (17)

Landa kept caressing Dieter's face, hands framing Dieter's head when he kissed him again, more tenderly this time, as if to forestall any indignation. Yet Dieter didn't feel insulted or humiliated by these words, but almost grateful that Landa bothered to tell him. His hands moved shyly to untuck Landa's shirt, and although Landa tensed up a little he didn't stop him this time. Another deep moan escaped Landa's lips when Dieter's fingers slid under his shirt, hesitant at first, but soon almost greedy to catch up on what he had missed until now, just like his lips were unwilling to leave Landa's. His fear was almost completely forgotten by now, and he growled in protest when Landa suddenly pushed him away. He put his hand on Dieter's lips when the younger man tried to kiss him again.

"Nehmen Sie mir die Stiefel ab," (18) he ordered, his voice breathy and rough, but nonetheless commanding, impatient even. Dieter didn't need to be told twice, not after spending the whole evening fantasising about getting Landa out of his clothes. Landa, leaning his back once again against the headboard, put one booted foot on Dieter's thigh.

Dieter watched Landa's face as his fingers caressed the black leather, and he didn't fail to notice that Landa was no less desperate than himself. After a moment of hesitation Dieter rose to his knees, carefully positioning the foot between his thighs before he leant forward and rubbed his groin against the bootleg. To his surprise Landa's moan was even louder than his own. He repeated the movement, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation of smooth, sleek leather on his cock threatened to overwhelm him. But his pleasure was interrupted only a moment later when the tip of Landa's boot nudged him rather roughly in the thigh.

Dieter opened his eyes again and quickly returned to the task at hand - he was too impatient himself to take advantage of the situation and tease Landa. Taking off these boots took long enough as it was, and feeling Landa's eyes constantly roaming over his naked, flushed body didn't help his concentration.

When both boots and socks had finally been discarded, Landa muttered something that sounded like "Na endlich" (19), and without leaving Dieter enough time even to get a look at his feet he grabbed him and pinned him roughly down on his back.

He slapped Dieter on the thigh, and the younger man willingly spread his legs in response. Dieter's eyes were wide when Landa finally unbuttoned his trousers, sighing in relief when his fingers curled around his cock. Dieter gave him a pleading look, silently begging to touch it, but Landa had apparently decided that their foreplay had already taken long enough.

Glinting predator eyes pinned Dieter down while Landa knelt between his thighs, lifted Dieter's hips and slowly, but steadily pushed into him. Despite the long preparation Dieter groaned in pain, struggling against the hands on his hips. Luckily Landa gave him a few seconds to adjust and relax, and the next thrust already elicited a loud moan.

Dieter wrapped his legs around Landa's hips, pushing up against him while he grabbed the Colonel's tie to pull him down into a downright violent kiss. He got more than he had bargained for when Landa returned the kiss so passionately that Dieter could hardly breathe, even before one of Landa's hands moved from Dieter's hips up to his throat and, for the first time in the evening, actually squeezed.

Dieter started to struggle again, panic rising in him as Landa choked him, his grip frighteningly secure while he kept thrusting into him. More tears welled up in Dieter's eyes, but just as he grew convinced that Landa was about to kill him the grip loosened. Dieter's helpless gasp for air was interrupted by another kiss, and in that precise moment a jolt of pleasure ran through his body when Landa hit his prostate. Dieter's fingers dug into Landa's sweat-soaked shirt, holding him close while the hand that had just choked him now found his cock, stroking him in time with the increasingly erratic thrusts.

Neither of them could possibly keep up this pace for a long time. Dieter's eyes met Landa's for a split second, and even more than he felt Landa's climax he could see it in his eyes, the tension that suddenly gave way to relief and bliss, before the same sensation washed over him.

The next time he opened his eyes, probably less than a minute later although it felt like an eternity of untainted satisfaction, he saw Landa lying next to him on his back, drenched in sweat, flushed, his lips moist and swollen, his hair clinging to his temples and forehead. Landa opened his eyes a little and blinked, looking more content than Dieter had ever seen him before, even after solving a complicated puzzle. He looked sleepy, and Dieter himself felt so exhausted that he could hardly keep his eyes open, let alone move.

He rolled over onto his side, since he had never been able to sleep on his back, turning away from Landa only to find himself face to face with the party insignia on the uniform jacket, which had simply fallen onto the bed after Landa had got rid of it. He frowned a little, as if he suddenly remembered how dire his situation would be if Landa chose to turn him in, but his brain was too exhausted to acknowledge anything else but the complete satisfaction he felt.

Dieter simply turned around again and moved closer to Landa, using the Colonel's shoulder as a pillow, too tired to wonder whether Landa would mind. Even as he was dozing off he felt Landa's arm moving around his shoulder, pulling him possessively against his chest. Apparently Landa didn't mind at all.

* * *

1 May I offer you another glass?

2 Thank you, but I don't want to push my luck. Scotch just doesn't agree with me.

3 Stay a little longer, Dieter.

4 It would be a pity if you left already, we have still so much to talk about.

5 Really? I thought we had finished for today.

6 You know very well that I am not talking about our work.

7 Undress.

8 You understood me just fine, Dieter. Or are you pretending again that you do not speak French?

9 With all due respect, Colonel, and with all understanding for your games - this is going too far.

10 Stop playing hard to get. You know as well as me where this has been going for weeks. You were hoping for it the whole time.

11 You look much better like this.

12 Actually I wanted to keep you waiting a bit longer, Dieter, but you're simply too … tempting.

13 One might almost think that nobody ever touched you like this.

14 You aren't really a virgin, are you?

15 Come here now, Dieter.

16 Hold still, or else I will use your belt instead of my hand.

17 You are so beautiful when you cry, Dieter.

18 Take off my boots.

19 Finally!

Note: As the English-speakers among you may or may not know, both German and French have two different forms of "you" - a polite, formal one, and a more intimate one (used for friends, family etc.). Both Landa and Hellstrom are using the polite "you" in the entire fic, even in bed, which is imo pretty kinky. I'm just saying this because it's unfortunately a nuance that gets lost in the English translation.


End file.
